Stockwin's Maritime Miscellany Page 9
It was a tough life for the common sailor. Not for nothing do we talk about iron men in wooden ships. But life at sea was often better than life ashore. A sailor got to see the world, he had guaranteed food and drink every day – and if he was very lucky there was prize money that could set him up for life. There was, too, a unique chance to make your way up in the world. In the rigidly stratified society of eighteenth-century Britain the Royal Navy offered virtually the only path for someone of low birth, but with talent and a bit of luck, to become a gentleman. After Admiral Nelson and Captain Hardy the two most important people in HMS Victory at the Battle of Trafalgar were both originally common seamen: John Quilliam and John Pascoe.
During the last days of the era the clipper ships, the greyhounds of the sea, could even give a steamship a run for its money. Cutty Sark, the famous tea clipper preserved in Greenwich, demonstrated this in an incident with the crack P&O steamship Britannia on 25 July 1889. Britannia, doing around 15 knots, was overhauled by Cutty Sark making a good 17 knots. Robert Olivey, second officer on Britannia, watched the lights of the sailing ship overhauling his vessel with amazement and then wrote in Britannia’s log: ‘Sailing ship overhauled and passed us!’
In harbour – and a riotous time is had on the mess deck.
ANIMALS COMING ABOARD
Many sailing ships carried a variety of pet animals to sea, and officers and crew alike found respite from a hard life in their companionship and affection. All kinds of creatures found their way aboard: birds, dogs, cats, guinea pigs – even tame monkeys.
Cats often slept in miniature hammocks, lovingly crafted by sailors from old pieces of canvas. One of the most famous ship’s cats was Trim, the affectionate and intelligent companion to Matthew Flinders during his epic voyages of discovery from 1799 to 1804. Flinders called him ‘the best and most illustrious of his race’ and wrote a moving biographical tribute to the feline, which remained hidden in the archives of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich for many years. In 1966 a bronze statue of Trim was installed in the Mitchell Library in Sydney, Australia.
Dogs were popular pets, too. When HMS Salisbury, flagship of Vice-Admiral John Campbell on the Newfoundland station from 1783 to 1785, received orders to return to England, the admiral gave permission for any person who pleased to take home a dog – 75 were embarked.
Cuthbert Collingwood, perhaps second only to Nelson as one of the great sea heroes of the age, was respected for his seamanship and courage, but a somewhat cool and aloof leader. His warmth and humour were reserved for his family at home in England, and for Bounce, his canine companion at sea for many years. When Collingwood became admiral, Bounce seemed aware of his master’s new status. Collingwood wrote home to his wife: ‘The consequential airs he gives himself since he became a right honourable dog are insufferable. He considers it beneath his dignity to play with commoners’ dogs, and truly thinks that he does them grace when he condescends to lift up his leg against them. This, I think, is carrying the insolence of rank too far.’
When he died Collingwood was deeply saddened, writing in a letter to his family, ‘Bounce is dead. I am afraid he fell overboard in the night. He is a great loss to me. I have few comforts but he was one, for he loved me. Everybody sorrows for him. He was wiser than a good many who hold their heads higher.’
Bounce hid below-decks when the guns were fired, but some dogs relished a good sea fight. In January 1799 Captain Lewis Mortlock of HMS Wolverine found himself outnumbered two to one; in a desperate hand-to-hand fight he and his crew repulsed a ferocious attack with the aid of his fearless Newfoundland dog.
A parrot aboard HMS Hinde in 1793 had learnt to imitate the calls of the boatswain’s whistle. Sometimes the bird would pipe an order so accurately that the ship was thrown into temporary confusion. One day, when a party of ladies was being hoisted on deck from a boat, the parrot piped ‘Let go’ – with the inevitable disastrous results.
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Captain, Spare That Pig
On occasion seamen made a special pet of one of the animals destined for the table. In the brig Onyx in the late 1820s the crew grew attached to a piglet that travelled with them from Portsmouth to the West Indies. When they learnt that the pig, by now grown, was about to be butchered, a group of seamen took the brave step of sending a deputation to the captain to plead for its life. ‘You see, sir,’ they told him, ‘he is just like one of us; he knows us all and takes his grog daily like any Christian.’ The porker was spared the cooking pot.
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When it was clear that the mighty Santissima Trinidad would not survive the storm that followed the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805, every effort was made to save those on board. They were lowered with ropes from the stern and quarter gallery windows as boats from nearby English warships came to rescue them. The lieutenant of HMS Ajax, whose boat was the last to leave the scene, reported, ‘Everything alive was taken out, down to the ship’s cat.’ He had put off from the starboard quarter when a cat ran out on the muzzle of one of the lower-deck guns and gave a plaintive miaow. The boat returned and took her in.
Trim, beloved feline sea companion of Matthew Flinders.
USEFUL STUFF, VINEGAR
At sea this versatile fluid was kept in a barrel, holding 32 gallons. The chines were white to distinguish it from other contents such as lime juice, indicated by green chines.
Fresh water was always in very limited supply on board sailing ships. It was made available from the ‘scuttled butt’, a barrel which had a square piece sawn out of the widest part of its curved side so that no more than half a butt was available each day. In times of action, when the men worked up a sweat and got very thirsty, it was necessary to have some means of further restricting how much they could drink, and this was done by adding vinegar.
Burns were common injuries on the gun deck, and compresses of vinegar were often applied as treatment. It was favoured as a local disinfectant on wounds. The surgeon kept a gang-cask open at the ready when the ship went into action.
The acidic liquid was put to good use to swab down areas of the ship – deck-head beams were given particular attention if fever was detected. An effective method of fumigating against cockroaches was panning vinegar, flashing a dish of it with gunpowder. In action, the guns were sponged out with a mixture of vinegar and seawater.
And in the galley the addition of vinegar to foods provided a welcome change from the fairly bland food that was a seaman’s lot. Cabbage, for example, was pickled in salt and water, boiled and then seasoned with vinegar.
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BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES – prepare for a dangerous situation. DERIVATION: in bad weather at sea it was important to secure the ship’s deck openings, the hatches, against any sudden ingress of water. This was done by fastening protective canvas over the hatch cover with flat pieces of wood called battens.
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A MINI UNITED NATIONS
Unlike today, there were no nationality or citizenship requirements for life in the Royal Navy in Nelson’s day. Foreigners made up a surprising proportion of the navy then. The Napoleonic Wars generated an overwhelming need for seamen, up from 45,000 in peacetime to 145,000 at the height of the conflict. They had to be found from somewhere as there just weren’t enough British nationals to go around.
Some foreigners did volunteer, but a significant number found themselves serving in His Majesty’s ships against their will. Although it was illegal to press foreigners, this was often done from merchant vessels at sea, when there was little chance of redress for the unfortunate victims.
In the ethnic mix around the mess tables black seamen were not uncommon, finding in the lower deck of a man-of-war a world in which their skills as a sailor counted more than their colour.
Americans made up the biggest number of foreigners. In 1813 one report stated that 6,600 Americans had obtained discharges from the navy in 1811–12. Alleged high levels of impressment of Americans was one factor in the War of 1812, in which America, re
sentful of what it saw as Britain’s high-handed actions at sea, declared war on Britain.
Sometimes, as the political map changed over the years, foreigners who signed on when their countries were neutral later found themselves transformed into the enemy.
In 1808 the captain of HMS Implacable recorded in the ship’s books that 14 per cent of the men were non-British. He did not find this exceptional, reflecting that if anything it was a bit lower than in other ships he knew of. In King George’s navy as a whole there were sailors from England, Ireland, Wales, the Isle of Man, Scotland, Shetland, Orkneys, Guernsey, Canada, Jamaica, Trinidad, St Domingo, St Kitts, Martinique, Santa Cruz, Bermuda, Sweden, Denmark, Prussia, Holland, Germany, Corsica, Sicily, Minorca, Ragusa, Brazil, Spain, Madeira, USA, West Indies and Portugal.
Even at the Battle of Trafalgar, where an all-British crew might have been expected, around 10 per cent were non-British. In fact there were 108 Frenchmen in the British fleet, four of whom were in Victory. Most of the best French seamen came from Brittany and Normandy, areas that had many Royalist sympathisers.
Spinning a yarn to messmates.
WATCH YOUR HEAD!
It was almost impossible for an officer to stand upright in the wardroom in many men-of-war, and only those seated in areas without beams directly overhead could get to their feet with some semblance of dignity. In those ships with a pronounced ‘tumble-home’, steeply sloping sides, this was even more of a challenge.
One concession to this is that in the Royal Navy the Loyal Toast to the monarch is drunk seated. William IV, the ‘sailor king’, was sent to sea at the age of 13 and saw active service in America and the West Indies. He reputedly bumped his head so many times toasting his father that he vowed that when he became king no officer would suffer a similar fate.
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Toasts
As well as the Loyal Toast, a number of others were popular in the wardroom:
Sunday:
‘Absent friends’
Monday:
‘Our ships at sea’
Tuesday:
‘Our men’
Wednesday:
‘Ourselves, as no one else is likely to concern themselves with our welfare’
Thursday:
‘A bloody war or a sickly season’
Friday:
‘A willing foe and sea room’
Saturday:
‘Sweethearts and wives – may they never meet’
The Thursday toast is a reference to the opportunity for promotion via a dead man’s shoes, in peacetime often the only way to get ahead.
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‘A RED CHECKED SHIRT AT THE GANGWAY’
To our modern sensitivities discipline at sea in the age of sail appears very harsh, but it has to be seen in the context of the times – ashore a person could be sentenced to death at the gallows for a minor misdemeanour.
The Articles of War provided the legal basis for discipline in the Royal Navy, but the severity of punishment varied greatly from ship to ship, depending on the captain. Admiralty regulations allowed a maximum of 12 lashes with the cat-o’-nine-tails, but this was often ignored on the grounds that the man had offended in several ways at once.
A captain was not limited to the formal offences as specified in the Articles of War. He could punish ‘according to the laws and customs and in such cases used at sea’, and the punishments meted out could include flogging, an admonishment, the stopping of grog or the disrating of a petty officer.
On punishment day, at six bells in the forenoon watch, the order was given, ‘All hands to witness punishment.’ The master-at-arms presented the offender to the captain, who questioned the man about his alleged offence and then delivered a verdict. The officer of the offender’s division was asked if he had anything to say in mitigation. If this did not satisfy the captain he ordered the man’s punishment. For a flogging the man was stripped to the waist and tied to a grating. The bosun’s mate then extracted the cat-o’-nine-tails out of a baize bag. Some of the tougher seamen took pride in receiving ‘a red checked shirt at the gangway’ without crying out.
However, the captain’s jurisdiction was limited; he did not have the power of life or death and could not order some of the more extreme punishments. The most serious crimes, such as mutiny, arson and cowardice, were dealt with by court martial, which had to consist of at least five and not more than 13 captains and admirals. If a sailor was sentenced to death by a court martial he was hanged, whereas an officer was shot. The last capital punishment carried out in the Royal Navy was the execution of John Dalliger in 1860 on board HMS Leven.
Flogging around the fleet was one of the punishments that could only be ordered by a court martial. It involved being rowed from ship to ship with the victim bound to a triangle of spars and receiving a set number of lashes while alongside each. Incredibly, some survived the ordeal, including William Mitchell (500 lashes), who went on to achieve a King’s commission and eventually the rank of admiral. The terrible punishment of keel hauling, in which a man was dragged under the ship’s keel to the other side, his flesh torn by barnacles in the process, was permitted in the Dutch navy, but never used in the Royal Navy.
A midshipman who committed a misdemeanour was usually mastheaded. This meant being sent to the cross-trees at the top of the mainmast. There he had to sit exposed to all weathers until he was allowed to return to the deck.
A number of punishments could be awarded by the junior officers or petty officers without the formality of trial by a captain. The most common were ‘starting’, which meant hitting the man on the back with a knotted rope’s end; ‘gagging’, tying the mouth open with an iron bolt between the teeth; and ‘spreadeagling’, securing him with limbs outstretched up in the shrouds.
Some punishments were carried out by the men themselves, ‘running the gauntlet’ for theft, or being turned out of a mess for objectional behaviour.
The Royal Navy officially suspended flogging in 1879, and to this day it is still suspended, not abolished…
Mastheaded.
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RUN THE GAUNTLET – attacked or threatened with attack, physically or metaphorically, from all sides. DERIVATION: in the age of sail ‘running the gauntlet’ was a punishment for thievery which obliged the accused sailor to make his way between two rows of his shipmates, each of whom was armed with a knotted rope to beat him. The master at arms went in front of the unfortunate man walking backwards with a cutlass drawn to prevent him getting through too quickly.
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THE BAND OF BROTHERS
Nelson used this phrase on a number of occasions. It is from Shakespeare’s play Henry V – ‘We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.’ Nelson’s original Band of Brothers were all captains at the Battle of the Nile in 1798 and they were the élite of the navy. Fifteen in number, they had known Nelson for a number of years and there was a unique trust and understanding between them.
Not all of the Nile captains were equally close to Nelson; he had an inner circle that he consulted regularly, and they then conveyed the results of these meetings to the remainder. But this inner circle was not static. Of the original Nile captains only Thomas Hardy served in all of Nelson’s later battles. Alexander Ball became governor of Malta, and Ralph Miller was killed in an accidental explosion at the siege of Acre.
Captain George Westcott was the only one of the celebrated band to die at the Nile. He was born of humble origins and left a widow and daughter. Nelson made a point of visiting them and presented Mrs Westcott with his own Nile medal saying, ‘You will not value it less because Nelson has worn it.’
The phrase ‘band of brothers’ later came to mean any captains who were close to Nelson.
The Nile captains.
RIGHT GOOD STOCKHOLM TAR
A true man-of-war’s man was said to be:
Begotten in the galley and born under a gun
Every hair a rope yarn
Every tooth a marline spike
&n
bsp; Every finger a fishhook
And his blood right good Stockholm tar
The rich aroma of pine tar has long pervaded sailing ships. Its use as a preservative for wood and rigging dates back at least 600 years. Stockholm tar (sometimes known as Archangel tar) is the most valued and derives its name from the company which for many years had a monopoly on its production in Sweden.
International politics influenced supplies of tar. In the eighteenth century England was cut off from Scandinavian supplies by Russia’s invasion of Sweden–Finland. By 1725 four-fifths of England’s tar and pitch came from the American colonies. This changed again with the American Revolution.
Stockholm tar with its distinctive resinous tang was used by a sailor to dress his queue, his clubbed plait of hair – hence his familiar name of Jack Tar. Not to be confused with this, pitch from the tar lakes of Trinidad, and sometimes called asphaltum, was used for caulking, the process of waterproofing the seams between planks on deck.